Release Date: August 1, 2016
â SYNOPSIS â
I live a life most could only dream of. Parties, women, fameâwhat more could I want?

As the undisputed MMA light heavyweight champ, Iâve faced the worldâs toughest men. But, with a single glance, I knew that the five-foot-five redhead with a smart mouth and innocent eyes would be my hardest opponent yet.

Sidney OâNeil isnât my type. While I spend my nights out drinking at the trendiest clubs in town, she spends hers taking care of her sick nephew. She lives for those she loves, and I only love myself. She is nothing I thought I wanted, yet sheâs somehow become the one thing I need.

But what happens when the world is tipped on end and Iâm no longer who she needs?

How do I convince her that weâre worth the fight when all she knows is defeat?

She takes my hand, the smallest of grins splitting her lips. Standing, I pull her to her feet. She isnât dressed like the other women in the club. Her jeans fit her like a glove and show off her curves, but they arenât designer threads. Her tank top barely reveals any cleavage, but it does show off her toned arms.

âI bet I looked ridiculous,â she states, brushing the hair out of her face.

Words flow from my mouth before I can even stop them. âSomeone as beautiful as you could never look ridiculous.â Nice line, cheese dick.

Blushing, she shoves her phone and her charger cord back in her purse. âThatâs really nice of you to let me use your phone. If youâre sure you donât mind, Iâll just send my sister a text.â

âI wouldnât have offered if I minded,â I reply, holding her gaze until she shyly glances away. âHere.â I offer her my phone.

She takes the phone and grimaces. âJust one message,â she says before quickly typing a message and then handing it back. âOh, wait. I should probably delete that.â She snatches my phone back giving me a wicked grin.

Iâm lost in her bright, blue eyes as her fingers slide over the screen, doing God knows what in my phone.

Between the booze and this woman, there are no fucks left to give. She could steal the damn thing and Iâm not sure Iâd be able to protest.

âThanks again.â She tucks the phone in my hand before turning to leave.

I catch her arm at the elbow. âHey. Where ya goinâ? You didnât tell me your name.â

She glances up through her lashes while tucking a stray hair behind her ear. âItâs Sidney.â

Sidney.

Sidney.

Fucking remember that, you drunk douchebag.

Sidâ¦ney.

âSidney. Thatâs a gorgeous name. It fits you. Are you here alone?â I rush out, doing my best to hide my drunken slur. I pray that she says yes, not only because Iâm interested in her, but also because what kind of an asshole lets her crawl around on the ground?

Her gaze shifts from side to side while she smirks. âAre you trying to pick me up?â

âWell, technically, I just did,â I tell her, gesturing to the spot she was just in on the floor.

Glad she didnât mention a boyfriend, I offer, âLet me buy you a drink.â

She shakes her head. âThanks, but no, thanks. Iâm not drinking. I was actually about to head home.â

âWell, then let me get you a soda. A water? I hear the bartender makes a mean Shirley Temple,â I counter, determined not to let her leave yet.

She laughs, and the magical sound spurs me on.

âWhatâs the rush? Husband waiting at home?â

Shaking her head again, she responds, âNope. Just my couch and Netflix.â

I dramatically clutch my heart then shoot her my best smile. âYouâre too beautiful to waste it on your couch. Come have one nonalcoholic beverage with me.â I stick my bottom lip out in an attempt to look pathetic enough that sheâll say yes.

Fuck. Am I really doing this?

Iâm rewarded for my efforts with a big smile and a quick nod. Yes. Yes. I fucking am.

âHow can I resist the puppy-dog face?â she laughs.

Pumping my arms in the air, I shout, âShe said yes!â Gripping her around the waist, I lift her off her feet and jokingly spin us both around in a circle. âShe said yes!â

Grinning from ear to ear, I tell her, âIâve only had three drinks.â I hold up five fingers and wink.

Shaking her head, she mumbles, âMultiply that by two at least.â

Ready to continue this conversation with a drink in my hand, I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her to the bar.

Knocking on the bar with my knuckles, I get the bartenderâs attention. âIâll have a Crown and Coke. And the hottest chick in the club here wants a Shirley Temple.â

Gripping my bicep, she interjects, âIâll just take a water, please.â

Normally, Iâd throw in a flex for good measure.

For this chick? I throw in three.

A few minutes of fighting not to stare at her cleavage later, he sets the drinks in front of us. I hand hers over and offer my glass up in a toast.

Raising one eyebrow at me, she smirks, âThis ought to be good.â

I clear my throat before saying, âTo cell phones. May yours always be dead, sockets be missing, and heroes be plentiful.â I pause when I realize what I said. Then I correct myself. âAnd, by heroes, I mean me. May I be plentiful.â I clink her cup with mine.

She giggles before taking a small sip. âHear, hear.â

â ABOUT THE AUTHOR: A.S. TEAGUE â

A.S. Teague enjoys the warmth of South Carolina with her husband and two daughters. The stereotypes about peach cobbler and sweet tea are not overstated. After years in the medical field, she is now enjoying every minute of being a stay-at-home mom. She loves wine, the beach, wine on the beach, and crying at Disney movies. When she doesnât have a book in her hand, she can be found pestering her husband with pictures of animals she wants to rescue, as well as debating whether to exercise or take a nap.